


Of Citadels

by sakasamasa



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feelgoodfic, Noctis et autres
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 02:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakasamasa/pseuds/sakasamasa
Summary: Noctis Lucis Caelum and a world that could have been.A collection of recollections. Mostly the happy ones.





	1. Archives

The library was a different kind of quiet. Serene, cherished. A homely sort of comfort. The glossy and dark hallways that lead to it were less kind. The walls seemed to close in on him, the crystalline tap of his shoes on tiling echoing into a silence that seemed like a heavy, oppressive noise in itself. Noctis felt relief as he rushed into the library, feeling as though he’d escaped the gaze of some unseen enemy lurking in the marble walls. Despite his hurried entrance, he carefully shut the looming doors behind him, leaving the wall-monster undefeated in its boxy lair. He breathed in deeply the smell of wood and leather as though he was taking in fresh, crisp air. Ignoring the slight mustiness, it was actually quite nice. But Noctis wasn’t here to sniff about. Not in the figurative sense, at least. He wasn’t in the library for books, no matter how his father or his uncle had tried to evoke some buried sense of excitement for the classics. Noctis had his comic books, which to him were as much works of literature as those 1000-page epics that lined the meters-high shelves. Not that he’d actually read any of those.

With quiet footsteps, he stalked through the orderly maze of shelves, keeping close to lacquered shells of wood that held invaluable pearls of history. Mere seconds passed before a single presence announced itself, booted footfalls thumping over carpeted flooring. Noctis ducked away, tucked into the shadow of a bookcase as he watched a familiar figure walk past and disappear behind another shelf ahead. For a moment, Noctis held his breath, trying to catch any sounds over the thumping of his heart. When none came, he slowly came to stand, keeping his eyes and ears alert. He’d located his target, and all that was left to do now was eliminate the threat. Controlled footsteps and practiced finesse brought him closer to his goal. Noctis dared to peek into the pathway that held the focal point of this leather-bound and parchment-smelling microcosm, and found it engrossed in a large tome, turned away from him. Noctis silently prayed the other wouldn’t turn in the time it took him to close in, looking for any sudden shift or shuffle that never came. He stared hard at his target’s back as it grew near, his hands poised to strike.

“Noctis, is it?”

Noctis’ mouth fell open, unabashed indignation spreading across his features. Golden eyes appeared, travelled down to meet him, and he didn’t miss the annoyingly triumphant smirk that accompanied them.

“No way,” he protested, firmly refusing to admit defeat. His plan was foolproof, and executed flawlessly. The other laughed at his frustration.

“You’ll have to try harder.”

His uncle closed the hefty book he was holding with a dull thud.

“Hold this for me, will you?”  
  
Before Noctis could refuse, a weight fell onto his barely ready hands. He almost staggered, a small yelp slipping from his mouth. His uncle had already turned back to stare intently at the many drearily hued spines decorating the shelf.

“What’s this?” Noctis looked down at the slab he was holding. The rough, swamp-green binding told him very little, and the lustreless gold inscription on the cover even less. It was a language Noctis had seen many times, but sheer willpower wasn’t enough to make him understand what he was seeing. He opened the book to peer inside, unsurprised that the inside was just as illegible as the outside. There weren’t even illustrations.

“A collection,” his uncle replied as he carefully lifted another tome from its perch up high, “of texts from Old Solheim. Reproductions, of course, but kept in their native tongue to preserve authenticity.”

“Huh.” This time, Noctis was ready as another dense brick made of book was handed to him. This one was a dark blue, the leather binding cracking in some places. After taking one more brick from the wall, his uncle spun on a booted heel and started walking. A waving hand beckoned him to follow.

“Come along now.”

Noctis had to jog to keep up with the other’s large strides, keeping an eye on the long, swaying coattails that never quite brushed the carpeted floor. They reentered into the light shining in from the windows above, almost white on a dreary, sunless day. Noctis looked up at spiral staircases, pathways, and an endless, endless amount of books. He remembers asking his uncle if he’d read all the books in the library, to which his uncle replied that several lifetimes wouldn’t be enough to go through it all. Especially at your pace, dear Noct, he’d laughed afterwards.

It didn’t take long for Noctis to realise they were headed to his uncle’s study, further into the library. He liked hanging out there, even when his uncle was out on duties or errands. The view was nice, and his uncle had spared no expense making his workspace as homely as possible. The sofa against the wall was the kind that you’d sink into, no matter how hard you tried to remain upright.

“I do wonder what brings you here, dear boy. Surely you’ve not kindled a sudden interest for classic literature.”

Noctis pondered on his answer, and found he himself had trouble finding out why he’d embarked on this unplanned excursion in the first place. All he knew was that it had been spurred on by a feeling he couldn’t quite put a name to. A feeling as if the world had left him behind, in a room where the walls seemed to shrink every time you looked away. A feeling as though it was sadness, but less severe. More of a tingling itch in his hands and his throat. Wanting to reach out and say something to someone, even when there was no one. Noctis considered in a moment of revelation he might’ve been lonely.

“Dunno,” he said.

He caught the hush of an exasperated sigh, watching his uncle round the corner and head into his study. The room was, like always, organised to an extreme. None of the candy wrappers Noctis had left on the desk the day before lingered.

“What of Ignis? Gladio? Iris, perhaps?” His uncle listed off names, and Noctis noted with slight embarrassment that it wasn’t a very long list.

“Ignis is with his family for the weekend,” he half-mumbled. “Gladio and Iris didn’t say, but they’re not around.”

His uncle placed the book in his hands on his desk.  
  
“Friends from school?”

Noctis looked down, the view of his princely sneakers obstructed by the large tomes. He remained silent, and hated that he did. A defeated sort of anger. The feeling he begrudgingly dubbed loneliness caught up with him. The study seemed empty and bare now, the ceiling up too high and far too low at the same time. Something in the walls, always there but denied acknowledgement. Noctis didn’t notice his uncle until his face flitted into view, pushing aside the less pleasant thoughts running through his head with a sad, understanding ghost of a smile. Even hunched down, he was very tall. With careful, large hands, he took the tomes from him.

“No matter, dear boy,” his uncle said in a way that made Noctis believe, for a moment, it really didn’t actually matter. Not now. Not here. Nothing in the walls here. Just books, smelling of leather and parchment and of secrets in foreign tongues.

Noctis felt a gentle caress over his crown. He looked up at golden eyes framed by unruly, wine red locks of hair. His uncle smiled at him.

“Remember,” he said, “you’re always welcome here.”

Noctis smiled back.

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this despite the overall lack of anything compelling prompting you to even click on this fic: I love you and thank you. Hope your curiosity has been rewarded! I thought the omission of probably-crucial-info-and-names in the tags would only add to the reading experience, but if it's more of a bother, feel free to tell me! Like, if I need to add an 'ardyn-haters-beware' tag or something hadgjh
> 
> I already have another drabble ready to be added in which noct's "mysterious uncle" appears again, but I am planning on including the other chocobros in future additions. Also actual chocobos.


	2. Trials and Error

Noctis held his breath, eyes trained on an empty spot in the grass with such resolve that he might’ve meant for the greenery to whither under his gaze. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other in anticipation. Breathing in, he tugged at the magic deep within, feeling it come to life at his fingertips. As always, the magic was less sparks, more dying embers. Still, he pulled, and he pulled until the slightest glimmer of blue manifested into being. The shimmer enveloped him, breathing with him as he expelled the air from his lungs. A sharp intake, and he shifted and tempered the wayward slivers of magic, calling them to attention.

“ _Go_!”

He threw the metal ball in his hands, aiming for the patch of grass a few paces away. A shaved second, and he was somewhere else. The steady ground beneath his soles abandoned him, the air sucked out of his atmosphere as bright blue blazed blinding. His outstretched hand fell to meet blades of grass, followed by the rest of his body crashing to the unforgiving ground of the tangible world. The air he’d taken in before left his lungs with a pained groan.

Sky, blue and still, a few scattered clouds here and there. Grass, green and vibrant, rolling in a fluttering breeze. Once he could discern where he fit into all of this gravity-wise, he made to sit upright.

To his dismay, the metal ball sat innocently on the patch of grass he hadn’t quite reached. He looked back to his starting point, finding some solace in the fact that he wasn’t there anymore, though he couldn’t call it improvement. He convinced himself he’d warped further the day before. His magic settled, its last whispers melting into the sound of chirping birds and running water of the nearby fountain. Rising to his feet, Noctis brushed off his clothes. He would try again, while there was still time, while there was nobody to watch him fail. The metal ball found its way back into his hand, and he returned to his starting point. This time he’d do better. He summoned his magic, feeling it reluctantly shying away from his eagerly grabbing hands. _Too soon, not now_ , it seemed to say, but Noctis ignored it. Blue fluttered and danced, faster this time as Noctis readied himself. The last thing he saw was the metal ball flying from his grip, towards the singular spot he called his magic to. Another brief expulsion from reality, no way of telling what was up or down as he warped. He warped, and then he landed with an undignified _oomph_ and a thud. The world spun as it rolled with him. His magic had faded by the time he stopped rolling, its electric rush replaced by a less pleasant soreness in his limbs. He lay splayed out on the grass for a moment, catching his breath. A brush of something solid and smooth against his fingertips. The metal ball was just out of reach. Sighing, he got up to try again.

By the fifth try, his magic became defiant and his ability to tame it weaker. _Too soon, not now_ , it urged. Blue shimmers enveloped him all the same, but now they were dull. Less clear-cut like crystal, more like spots in his vision.

“Come on,” Noctis said impatiently to no one. The ball seemed slippery in his hand, threatening to fall out of his grasp. He turned his attention to the frustratingly innocent patch of grass that had remained out of his reach for the past four tries. His magic stuttered and stammered, _not now_ , _too soon_. Noctis didn’t believe it, and he pitched the ball. Blinding blue lifted him off the ground. Sparks in his ears. In a fit of pure willpower, Noctis kept himself balanced in a place where balance didn’t exist, following the flash of metal in front of him. His fingers curled in the light, catching something smooth and heavy. A feeling of triumph rose up in him, even if it was dreadfully short-lived. Propelled forward, he reentered the corporeal with a little-too-high velocity and he met the patch of grass with impact. The pain was oddly dull now, and the rotating world seemed out of focus. His magic faltered, dying out like it had never been there in the first place. Noctis had bled it dry, and in retaliation it had taken whatever energy he had left from his body.

It was alarming, not being able to move. Fear fluttered in his chest. The world remained ever peaceful, ever uncaring. The sound of the fountain was a distant and warbled rumble. Lying there, Noctis thought he might die.

A voice, indistinct, grew near. Noctis would turn to look who it belonged to, if only he could move. Despite the fear of possibly dying, he found himself in dismay at the prospect of being scolded for his actions.

“Noctis!” Garbled murmurs became words. The unintelligible voice became familiar. Uncharacteristically loud and, even more so, afraid. Noctis felt large hands turning him onto his back, one coming to cradle the back of his head.

The sky was very blue. His not-uncle’s face was very strange, like it wasn’t actually his, but rather someone wearing his face and managing a poor impression. His brows were knitted together and his golden eyes were wide and alarmed. Noctis had never seen him so scared, and, by proxy, became scared as well. Maybe he was really dying.

“Noct, can you hear me?”

That was a weird question. _Of course,_ but Noctis could only form the words with his mouth. He didn’t try again. Instead, he nodded, managing at least that. His not-uncle diverted his attention to somewhere else, eyes darting from pillar to post before settling onto him again.

“Are you hurting anywhere?”

Noctis felt his brows furrow. Was he hurting? He mostly felt numb, like the soreness in his limbs was drowned out by something else. He shook his head tentatively.

A troubled look remained on his not-uncle’s face even as he moved to rummage through his coat. A phone appeared in his hand, and Noctis thought it looked odd, like juxtaposing the old and the new. Even if it was funny in a strange way, he could only feel the corners of his lips twitching slightly upwards before the fun of it all disappeared. Back to the present, he looked on as his not-uncle exchanged a few clipped words with the receiver. He thought then he might be in for more trouble than he’d initially thought possible.

“Un…cle.” Noctis forced the word out just as the other put away the phone. Even if it probably wasn’t right, ‘ _uncle’_ was familiar enough, the situation dire enough to disregard the semantics.

His not-uncle shifted his gaze. Noctis found his voice a little faster now.

“I’m okay,” he said, as if he was trying to convince himself of it. Dying wasn’t a very pleasant thing, so he’d rather believe he wasn’t. His not-uncle sighed, a sad excuse of a smile forming on his face. The sun above made the shadows on his face darker. His silhouette was lined with light, his wine-red hair tinged magenta at the edges, making him look like those grand figures Noctis saw on paintings near the throne room.

“Of course,” he said softly, “You’re alright. You’ll be alright, Noct.”

Another presence came running, and Noctis was able to tilt his head just enough to see who it was. Not that it helped. The bewildered-looking woman that knelt down next to his not-uncle with a bright red, boxy bag was unfamiliar. She told Noctis she was a doctor, but it wasn’t very convincing without the pristine white lab coat or the fact that he wasn’t in a hospital. Either way, the rather motherly front she put up set his mind at ease, all soft words and light touches. What followed was a hazy flurry of gentle prodding, cold metal at his chest and arms, and being asked ‘ _how does this feel_ ’ or ‘ _can you lift this limb_ ’. By the end, he was sitting upright, able to speak and feeling like he’d just gotten out of bed.

“I was practicing,” Noctis started hesitantly. “Warping.”

While the doctor’s expression remained puzzled, realisation dawned on the other. His not-uncle was caught somewhere between a laugh and another tired sigh, losing the tension in his shoulders as he brought a hand to his face.

“Noctis,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, uncle?”

“Do you remember what your father told you about warping?”

“That I shouldn’t try doing it before my sixteenth birthday,” he admitted, the metal ball rolling from one hand to the other.

“Correct, and certainly not to this extent. What you experienced just now is called _stasis_.”

“Stasis?” He parotted. The doctor seemed to have caught on while he remained clueless.

“In a sense, your magic is like a muscle. You can train it, but even at its best it is not inexhaustible. While your connection to the Crystal and its powers is a constant by virtue of the Astrals, your ability to manipulate it is dependant on your endurance and proficiency, both of which you simply have very little as of now.”

Noctis knew he was in the wrong here, but he felt his offended glare was entirely justified. The other continued, unperturbed.

“You’ll find that warping is a costly process, and you _will_ fatigue yourself if you use your magic in excess. It will render you incapacitated. In other words, in stasis. On the battlefield such a slip-up might cost you your life, you understand.”

He nodded, trying to match the graveness carved into his not-uncle’s features. Not that it made a difference; it was gone by the time he thought he got it right.

“You must also understand that I’ll have to inform your father about this.”

Noctis made a keening sort of noise in the back of his throat. The doctor stifled a smile with her hand.

“And I will ask of you to refrain from warping or doing anything of the sort until you’re ready for formal training. Of course, I simply cannot keep an eye on you every minute of the hour. I daresay even your father would not be capable of such a feat.”

It took him embarrassingly long to read between the lines, but Noctis eventually caught on with added surprise. In all the prior seriousness he’d forgotten his not-uncle could be just as capricious as he was. Sometimes it worked in his favour.

“I won’t do it again,” he lied.

His not-uncle put a finger to his lips, not doing a very good job of concealing a conspiratorial smirk behind it.

“Good. Now, thank the good doctor for her gracious efforts…”

Noctis mumbled a timid _thank you_ to the woman, realising she’d been there to witness the entire scheme. She shot him a wink and a smile. His not-uncle made to stand, and they followed.

“…and prepare yourself for a rather unpleasant conversation with your father.”


End file.
